


Hope

by autumnsolstice9



Series: Robb & Arya [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, not starkcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnsolstice9/pseuds/autumnsolstice9
Summary: “Arya’s dead, Robb. It’s time you faced it.”prompt: things you said when we were the happiest we ever were





	Hope

At the age of eighteen, Robb Stark forgets how to breathe. For months he has felt as if no oxygen was going into his lungs, like he was constantly holding his breath for something unknown.

His mother is at his side, a hand resting on his arm for comfort as he takes in air. Catelyn’s eyes shimmer with tears but she does not cry, and he knows it is for his sake that she remains so strong. She will not allow herself this time to mourn or succumb to despair when he, her king, is crumbling to pieces.

“Robb,” she whispers, “there is nothing more we can do for her. We must work on other plans- we still have your brothers and Sansa to think of.”

Her voice is strong, but he sees through the facade. Robb knows his mother, knows how she lived through one war and never wanted her children to do the same. The consequences of war had existed only in stories, but now he feels the weight of his crown like a thousand pounds as he shoulders the repercussions of his actions.

He stares at the letter in his hand, Sansa’s script as neat as she was. His chest burns as he thinks over his mother's’ words- _there is nothing more we can do for her_ \- as flashes of playful gray eyes dance through his vision.

Catelyn is still gripping his arm, and he tries to keep the tears from running down his cheeks. “Mother, the letter says nothing of Arya. She could be alive for all we know.” He has hope in him, hope that his sister is safe, hope that he can get to her before the darkness of the world does.

His mother’s hand on his arm tightens, her voice strained. “Robb, we haven’t heard news of her since the war started. The Lannister’s do not use her as bait, Sansa has not mentioned her, no one has. We must face the facts.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes squeezed shut as if trying to hold herself together. “Arya’s dead, Robb. It’s time you faced it.”

His chest feels like it is on fire. It seems impossible to get air as he takes in his mother’s words.

_Arya’s dead, Robb. It’s time you faced it._

He can’t imagine it- he refuses to. The burning sensation in him quickly turns to anger- at the world, at his mother for thinking Arya could be dead, at himself for being unable to protect her.

“Get out,” he growls, voice low and threatening. “How could you possibly say that? Get out. I wish to be alone now.”

“Robb,” she pleads, but all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.

“Get. Out.” It’s a command this time, not a furious son talking to his mother- this is a king talking to a subject. His mother, always the perfect lady, follows the order, her mouth snapping shut as she leaves the tent, all the while throwing pitiful glances his way.

Robb wants to vomit. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the ends as if that will help ground him to reality. He has already dealt with the loss of his father- he has mourned for days over Ned Stark and the injustice he faced- but he is not prepared to do the same for his sister.

Maybe he is foolish for it, but he will not give up on Arya unless her corpse lies in front of him. Even if all of Westeros said she was dead, he would not abandon his hope. 

He remembers what feels like a lifetime ago when he was a different, younger man. He and his siblings were having a snowball fight, all of them running around giggling and shrieking with joy. He had teamed up with Arya, who was so wrapped up in cloaks and other layers she had to waddle around everywhere.

Robb had been raised for battle. He knew strategies and war plans. A snowball fight would be easy, and in his mind he knew the way to win. “Arya,” he had asked, hands on her tiny shoulders, “do you trust me?”

She had maybe been eight at the time, her cheeks full and round like all children. Yet the seriousness with which she nodded made her seem a battle-weary soldier, taking orders from their general and ready to die in action. “I trust you with everything, Robb.”

Her owl-eyes had shown no waver in faith. And, though it was just a snowball fight, Robb’s heart swelled with pride at the thought that his baby sister held him so high.

They had won the snowball fight, and later he and Jon snuck Arya into the kitchen with them for hot cocoa. It had been one of the happiest days in his life.

He wonders if Arya remembers it.

He wonders if Arya is close by. Perhaps she really is still in King’s Landing, or even at the Wall with Jon. Maybe she is hiding in the woods, the same way she used to disappear for hours in the Godswood.

A tiny part of him speaks in fear and lies, chanting over and over that she might be dead, but Robb ignores it.

He was never meant to outlive his siblings. As the oldest child, he was meant to die before all of them, and the rest would follow years afterward. _But,_ Robb thinks, _the world is not a story, and sometimes the heroes do not get happy endings._

Sometimes their baby sisters do not get happy endings either.

He leans over his war table, examining maps of Westeros. With each passing day he is getting closer to King’s Landing- closer to Sansa. Sending a silent prayer up to the gods- to the seven, the old gods, to any god that would listen- he begs for Arya to be there as well when he arrives. 

He closes his eyes, and burning behind his eyelids is Arya in the snow, telling him that she trusts him with everything. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair knotted, and her smile wide and slightly lopsided. It’s typical Arya Horseface.

He would give anything to see it again.

He will give anything to see it again.

He will raise armies, topple castles, destroy opponents if it means seeing his sister safe and sound with him. _Mother,_ he can’t help but think, _is a fool if she thinks you are dead, sister. She is a fool to give up hope that you are alive. She is a fool if she believes I won’t return you to us._

In the distance, he hears a wolf howl. When Grey Wind responds, a smile cracks across Robb’s face. It is tired, it is weary, but it is hopeful. He looks to the moon and knows that somewhere- somewhere- Arya is alive.

He’ll be damned if he doesn’t find her.

**Author's Note:**

> hmmm. yes.
> 
> i have a list of a bunch of prompts that are like "things you said when..." and i am slowly but surely working through them for this series. I love my children. 
> 
> i'll work on needlework e v e n t u a l l y but not this week. who knows when. it's a surprise!
> 
> as always comments and kudos are appreciated. got any particular arya-centric story you want written? let me know and i'll see if i can take a crack at it. i love her so much.
> 
> and, as with literally every single fic i write, this is a one-shot that is unbeta'd so pls go easy on me


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